Someone snuck back with me on my return to Maui. I had spent a week in Minnesota visiting family and then two days in Portland before packing up some more of my storage space and flying back home, to Maui.
My bags were heavy. I had weighed them several times before getting to the airport to make sure they were under the allotted 50 pounds. They made the cut, barely. I had them jam packed with clothes, books, camping accoutrements and other "precious" personal items. Oh, the things we carry.
I checked the bags at the airport in Portland and then 8 hours later the bags and I found ourselves in the Kahului terminal. I waited for them as they made their rounds about the carousel. As I hoisted them off the rotating belt I noticed that they had become heavier during their travels. "What did I put in here?" I thought. "What have I brought back with me that has such weight?"
This morning I figured it out. It was 4 am when she woke me up. It was quiet except for the rain and the subtle Maui wind bouncing off the walls of our compound. Her presence started as a whisper in the dark room and then grew louder as I began to take notice.
I don't know how she made it into my luggage without me noticing. She must have squeezed in between my sleeping bag and my favorite Jane Austen novel. Or maybe she had wrapped herself around that painting of Summer Rain or slipped into the pockets of the jeans I could not live without. Whatever way she managed it I will never know. Somehow she made it over the vast infinity of ocean and now she was in my room. There she was, my little stowaway. Myself.
Myself sat on the edge of the bed and had me tossing and turning, trying to ignore her. It took about an hour before I actually validated her presence and confronted her. "What are you doing here?" I asked. "I thought I left you on the mainland." She just sat there and smiled at me.
I tried to reason with her. "I have a new life now. I am a new person. I am different. I don't need you and all your baggage around crowding in on my new experiences."
She was not moved.
I began to get angry with her. "Why did you have to come? You always mess everything up with all your past memories and your worries and your fears. Get out of here. I am trying to sleep for crying out loud."
She continued to smile, waiting for me to move through the necessary steps towards acceptance. I attempted bargaining; "Ok, fine. You can hang out here for a little bit but then you better get back on a flight to PDX. Or at least go hide in the closet so I don't have to look at you."
I finally gave up and became a little depressed. I came all this way, I thought. I have worked so hard to restart my life here only to find that somehow I brought my old self along for the ride.
My bags were heavy. I had weighed them several times before getting to the airport to make sure they were under the allotted 50 pounds. They made the cut, barely. I had them jam packed with clothes, books, camping accoutrements and other "precious" personal items. Oh, the things we carry.
I checked the bags at the airport in Portland and then 8 hours later the bags and I found ourselves in the Kahului terminal. I waited for them as they made their rounds about the carousel. As I hoisted them off the rotating belt I noticed that they had become heavier during their travels. "What did I put in here?" I thought. "What have I brought back with me that has such weight?"
This morning I figured it out. It was 4 am when she woke me up. It was quiet except for the rain and the subtle Maui wind bouncing off the walls of our compound. Her presence started as a whisper in the dark room and then grew louder as I began to take notice.
I don't know how she made it into my luggage without me noticing. She must have squeezed in between my sleeping bag and my favorite Jane Austen novel. Or maybe she had wrapped herself around that painting of Summer Rain or slipped into the pockets of the jeans I could not live without. Whatever way she managed it I will never know. Somehow she made it over the vast infinity of ocean and now she was in my room. There she was, my little stowaway. Myself.
Myself sat on the edge of the bed and had me tossing and turning, trying to ignore her. It took about an hour before I actually validated her presence and confronted her. "What are you doing here?" I asked. "I thought I left you on the mainland." She just sat there and smiled at me.
I tried to reason with her. "I have a new life now. I am a new person. I am different. I don't need you and all your baggage around crowding in on my new experiences."
She was not moved.
I began to get angry with her. "Why did you have to come? You always mess everything up with all your past memories and your worries and your fears. Get out of here. I am trying to sleep for crying out loud."
She continued to smile, waiting for me to move through the necessary steps towards acceptance. I attempted bargaining; "Ok, fine. You can hang out here for a little bit but then you better get back on a flight to PDX. Or at least go hide in the closet so I don't have to look at you."
I finally gave up and became a little depressed. I came all this way, I thought. I have worked so hard to restart my life here only to find that somehow I brought my old self along for the ride.
I got out of bed and made myself a cup of coffee. I sat outside to watch the sun light up the banana trees. The wind grew stronger against my face and I closed my eyes. I felt my bare feet on the dirty ground and listened as the traffic on the street became louder.
They have a saying on Maui that "Two's are Hard." For those of us who move over from the mainland the "two's" are the developmental levels that you move through. Kind of like a real life Super Mario Game. Each Level is marked in intervals of "two's". After two weeks on Maui you get a little antsy thinking about all you have left behind. Two months is the next milestone. This is when you start to realize the reality of living so far away from everyone and everything you know. Two years is the next hurdle which I have heard is when most people cash in their chips and go back to wherever they came from. I am at the second level. The vacation is over. The reality is setting in. This is where I live.
I think I making my way through level two. This is my reality. Life on Maui. It means sunny days that heat up your core, oceans that rock you to sleep, and Kodak moments every weekend. But this reality comes at a price. It means no walks with my dad every week. It means no more burgers and beers with my brothers on Wednesday nights. It means no more coffee in the morning with my step mom and no more nights of Chardonnay drinking with my mom. It means that I can not be there with my sister as she tries on wedding dresses. It means being absent from all the life that happens in those in-between moments and there is no suitcase big enough in which I could pack up those truly precious things.
There is a cost to living in paradise than can never be balanced or justified. For those who choose to make this their home they must come to terms with this reality and I think that's the message Myself was bringing home.
They have a saying on Maui that "Two's are Hard." For those of us who move over from the mainland the "two's" are the developmental levels that you move through. Kind of like a real life Super Mario Game. Each Level is marked in intervals of "two's". After two weeks on Maui you get a little antsy thinking about all you have left behind. Two months is the next milestone. This is when you start to realize the reality of living so far away from everyone and everything you know. Two years is the next hurdle which I have heard is when most people cash in their chips and go back to wherever they came from. I am at the second level. The vacation is over. The reality is setting in. This is where I live.
I think I making my way through level two. This is my reality. Life on Maui. It means sunny days that heat up your core, oceans that rock you to sleep, and Kodak moments every weekend. But this reality comes at a price. It means no walks with my dad every week. It means no more burgers and beers with my brothers on Wednesday nights. It means no more coffee in the morning with my step mom and no more nights of Chardonnay drinking with my mom. It means that I can not be there with my sister as she tries on wedding dresses. It means being absent from all the life that happens in those in-between moments and there is no suitcase big enough in which I could pack up those truly precious things.
There is a cost to living in paradise than can never be balanced or justified. For those who choose to make this their home they must come to terms with this reality and I think that's the message Myself was bringing home.
"We really live here?" Myself asked. "We really live so far away?"
"Yes," I replied. "I guess its official, now that you are here. This is where we live."
"Wow," she said in wonder. "Thanks for bringing me along for the adventure."
"Did I have a choice?"
"Not really. I would have snuck over one way or another," she smirked, "but I thought coming over in your baggage was a good metaphor."
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